Getting Rid Of Writers' Block

It seems we all get this poetry block: when mind's creativity slumbers And time draws out to tick... and tock, as the muse deliberately encumbers. Her touch, her kiss, and sweet rainfall that the poet becomes desert dry; muted she does not answer the call, the poet misses her and does cry. I've been there time and time again that my block has become a bolder, now whenever muse refuses my pen, whenever my fires smolder I roll the bolder at the muse I imagine her at the base of a hill And give her an offer she can't refuse: run and inspire, or die by standing still! I find that this always get me my way Her immortality she does not want to try. She gives me many poems by end of day; To my every beckon she does comply. Copyright © 2011 Leslie Alexis